| PROFILE. |
[Jul. 16th, 2012|06:00 pm] |
i'm your puppet, i'll learn to love it. and i'll undress if you need it, but please don't need it. if you need it, i'll scream out.
( Read more... ) |
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| i am not proud; i am just taking orders. |
[Feb. 8th, 2012|02:32 am] |
[She is still angry over the closure of Market, still reeling and spinning her wheels in the mud as a result of it. She's a djinni without a wish to grant, an automaton without its program, a golem without its script: without work to do, she is nothing. So she is angry. Frothing and stewing in red-hot rage, all bared teeth and rabid annoyance. Her master might be able to hold his irritation in check, but Marion's temper -- well, it's never been pretty on the best of days. And so she circles and fumes over the same exact question: how to keep herself busy in the downtime?]
I've heard that most people play an instrument. Does anyone here play an instrument? I like the sound of the cello.
[NICOLAS SANTORO.]
What do I do. I've handled everything on the list. Nothing left to do but wait. I fucking hate waiting.
[FRITZ HART.]
I'd like an appointment. |
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| to buy a fat pig. |
[Aug. 23rd, 2011|12:52 am] |
[It's the ebb and flow of what makes Marion Marion: the dates on her calendar crawling-creeping down to Market, to Market. Another month, another saddling-up and getting into battle armour, ready to prowl the aisles and glance at the books and purse her lips at the vendors.]
We're a market, not a shopping mall. We provide a service and that service isn't nannying. Every Vendor will naturally claim that their wares are the best out of what's available. We remain objective.
[Is that scowl darker than usual, the continent-sized (and tattoo-shaped) fractures on her skin a bit more pronounced? Perhaps.]
( Santoro & Rayne. )
( Santoro. ) |
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